


A Primer for the Small Weird Loves

by LadyVictory



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Feels, Fluff, Maybe - Freeform, Multi, OT3, Red Queen - Freeform, Red Swan - Freeform, Red Swan Queen - Freeform, Swan Queen - Freeform, Threesome - F/F/F, Wolf Queen sounds WAY cooler than Red Queen though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-05-06 12:48:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5417645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyVictory/pseuds/LadyVictory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma and Ruby are easy - fun and light; like a drink of iced tea on a hot summer's day.</p><p>Regina and Ruby make sense - each the possible outcome of the other, given different circumstances; like dark reflections in the mirror.</p><p>Emma and Regina are inevitable - jagged pieces of a puzzle fitting together; like the taste of blood on your tongue after a hard fist to the face.</p><p>The three of them are right - like deep, ragged breaths after running a marathon with death nipping at your heels; a lot like coming home.</p><p>******</p><p>I guess this is the queer nerd version of a formal argument for the possibility of RSQ. I promise RSQ will come, but I am going to lay down that track/set up those premises first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. There is a road, and there is the story of where the road goes, and then there is more road

**Author's Note:**

> AN1: None of these ladies are mine, no matter what dark curses I cast, and I profit none from their use.  
> AN2: Julia is pretty much responsible for the last 5 fic I have written.  
> AN3: All titles are taken from various Richard Siken poems (unless otherwise specified) from his collection of poetry CRUSH. I love that book. Read it. It will enrich your life.  
> AN4: I primarily started writing this because of a text conversation where a friend and I tried to figure out a way to make Red Swan Queen work in something close to the actual canon. After some back and forth (mostly about the sanctity of Swan Queen, probably) we eventually decided that the only way for that to work is to establish their individual relationships first, with RSQ endgame. I couldn’t let it go at that, and this is the result. I figure there will be about 6 parts to this thing, about this length each part.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warm beer. Big Bad Wolves. Red stained collars.

PROLOGUE

 

Red Swan

 

The first time it happens is like, the second night Emma’s in town. She’s just got settled in her room – _just a week_ , she chants in her mind like a mantra – and is debating whether or not she wants a drink bad enough to brave a place called The Rabbit Hole _– really, what kind of weirdo place is this_ – or if she can wait for tomorrow to hit the supermarket for beers, when there is a knock on the door.

The girl from the lobby (who was also the girl from Emma’s quick dip into the diner for coffee and a doughnut) stands on the other side of the door, a sweating six pack of lager in hand. Emma is confused for a moment before she remembers the argument she heard between the brunette and the old lady that runs the place and realizes that she must be her granddaughter.

Opening the door, not bothering to throw a shirt on over her tank or sweats over her boy shorts, Emma raises an eyebrow and smirks.

“Ruby, right?” she asks, searching through her memory and visualizing the name tag.

There is no way to describe the dark haired girl’s smile except for wolfish.

“Right.”

Emma’s sure it is not her imagination that the girl’s dress is shorter than it was the last time she saw her.

“I’m Emma Swan,” the blonde offers.

“I know. We met earlier.”

Emma would bet good money that Ruby’s suggestive tone and bedroom eyes are illegal in most of the Southern states.

“What year were you born?” she can’t help but ask, eyeing the brunette up and down once.

Ruby looks at her for long moments with unfocused, vaguely confused eyes.

Emma sighs. “How old are you, kid?”

Ruby grins, distant expression gone, not the least bit offended. She lifts the beers a little higher (they are not too cheap and not too pricey, just right), smiling wide.

“Old enough to buy these all on my own.”

Pausing a beat to consider that the girl probably is closer to 20 than 30, Emma shrugs and nods. “Close enough for horse shoes,” she says and turns, knowing Ruby will follow.

She does.

The beer gets warm. The bed gets warmer.

Later (much, _much_ later), Ruby rolls off of her sweat soaked and panting body – the girl has the energy of all of Emma’s last 4 one night stands combined – and stretches out next to her, grinning wide.

“Well that was… something,” Emma manages, nodding to herself and wondering if she is getting old (because sweet Jesus, she could barely keep up).

“Something good, I hope?”

Emma can only nod.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” Ruby chuckles, moving closer to press the front of her (very naked, very warm, very _perky_ ) body against the blonde’s and nip at her neck.

Emma groans, shivering.

“Lemme breathe for a sec, Ruby. Replenish my energy,” she almost begs, doing something that she _never_ does and looping an arm around the waitress’s shoulders to pull her closer – to keep her still, obviously, and not at all to keep her _here_.

Ruby’s hum is non-committal, but she replaces teeth with a press of lips then snuggles in with a yawn.

Breaking another of her rules, Emma settles into the pillows and closes her eyes.

It would probably not do her any favors to kick out the owner’s granddaughter she decides, willfully refusing to acknowledge how nice the girl feels against her, and how not at all terrible the possibility of falling asleep next to her seems.

 

In the morning Ruby is gone, a note on the pillow in her place.

 

_Had a blast. See ya around, pretty bird. Xoxo R_

 

It’s even sealed at the bottom with a bright red lip print.

Emma can’t believe she slept through the girl’s exodus of (not exactly) shame (because lets face it, the brunette doesn’t seem to have the ability to feel anything close to shame).

Pleased that there would be no awkward good byes or touchy-feely conversations about what was expected, the blonde smiles to herself.

Stretching and relishing the sensations of soreness at her breasts and between her legs – the girl had been really, _really_ enthusiastic – Emma lets out a sigh of contentment. Ruby didn’t seem the type to write home to the family about (not that Emma was the type to do such a thing, even if she had one), but she’s most definitely worth lingering in bed over.

A sharp knock at the door interrupts her basking, and Emma frowns, standing and pulling on a bra and tank, and a pair of clean underwear.

Now, who could that be?

 

Red Queen 

 

The men whisper when they think she can’t hear. Sometimes about her – mostly how terrifying she is, which pleases her greatly – but often, too, about the general happenings of the kingdom. Though the Queen would prefer her Black Knights to act more like the soldiers they are supposed to be and less like gossiping old washer women, it is sometimes interesting – the things they prattle on about.

There were murmurings of a beast in the woods. A huge black shadow with eyes that blazed like fire and teeth that slashed and stabbed like knives.

Everyone was talking about it, from the men on the walls and in the halls to the scullery maids and even the stable boys. When three of her men are torn apart on a scouting mission to track the infernal Snow White, the Queen has to see for herself. Rumors are nothing but words, and words are like wind through a door, but dead men mean someone or something is stalking through _her_ forest.

It doesn’t take the Queen long to discover a pattern to the where and when of the beast’s movements. She sets herself as both the trap and the bait, and does not have long to wait.

The wolf is bigger than she had even begun to imagine – the size of her prized warhorse at least – and black as the night.

Standing there, fire at the ready in her hand, Regina hesitates. There is an intelligence in those golden eyes, sharp and almost human. The wolf is tense but does not cower or attack heedless of the danger the sorceress presents, instead seeming to observe and calculate.

Regina thinks of the animals she has loved, and the Queen considers the power she could wield should she be able to control (but not tame, _never_ tame) such a creature.

She can’t kill the beast, in the end. Looking into its eyes, she knows she must have it.

It’s easy enough to turn fire into a leash.

The wolf struggles so fiercely that the Queen is forced to use her magic to render it unconscious (the part of the Queen that is the Regina that loved the feel of wind in her hair and the rough but gentle hands of a stable boy against her cheeks wishes that the beast could have broken free and ran far and fast, out of her grasp).

She locks it in the strongest cell of her dungeon.

 

In the morning, in place of the wolf is a girl – young (at least five years Regina’s junior), thin (but not malnourished like some peasants), and absolutely terrified.

“Well, this was certainly unexpected,” the Queen drawls, sweeping her dark cloak behind her as she approaches the bars.

“Y-your Majesty,” the girl all but whimpers, and the Queen is disappointed.

Her first encounter with a genuine werewolf, and it is all but sniveling and quaking before her. Where was the fire of the beast that thought to stalk her in her own forest?

“I can’t say that I'm not disappointed. You had a lot more fight when you were on all fours,” the Queen says, raising an eyebrow.

The girl blushes and looks down at the floor, but her shivering stops.

“If you met the wolf, you’re lucky to be alive,” she says, voice soft but sure.

“I was in no danger, dear, but your Queen thanks you for your concern.”

“You’re wrong.” The girl looks up, and some of the fire is back in her eyes.

The Queen chuckles but makes no comment.

The wolf-turned-girl’s face flushes a deeper red – scarlet, oddly flattering – but she thrusts out her chin, sure, almost defiant.

“It’s a monster. A killer.”

“Hardly. More like a predator.”

The girl’s shame is almost palpable. “That… that’s the same thing.”

“Is it? Can you blame an animal for following its instincts to survive?”

“All it knows is killing, and if it gets the chance, it’ll rip your throat out.”

"You sound almost regretful about that, dear. There are countless many in the kingdom that would give their meager little lives for just the chance to take mine.”

“Not me,” the peasant insists, jaw clenching.

“Oh no?” The Queen is amused. “And why is that? You’d be doing nothing more than doing what comes naturally.”

“I… I’m not in control of the wolf. But, I… the blood is on my hands, even though the wolf is the one that does the killing. I have no choice…”

The way the girl speaks, low and mournful and with a hint of disgust at herself – Regina understands what is behind that tone. Hearing it come from someone so young, seemingly innocent, makes Regina’s stomach churn and she has to force away memories of crystal hearts pulled from gentle, trusting creatures, and high pitched evil giggles sliding into her ears, leaving her feeling weak and dirty.

“You’re not a monster.”

“But, I-”

“Monsters,” Regina interrupts, voice husky, dark eyes piercing, "are purposeful. They have a choice. The evil committed by true monsters is attributable to no one and _nothing_ but themselves.”

The Queen pauses, tilting her head as she regards the girl, who looks back at her with pale eyes almost hopeful.

“You are not what the rumors said you were, little girl.”

Regina unlocks the door.

“Y-your Majesty, what are you-”

“You would dare question your Queen?”

The girl looks down at her worn shoes, blushing again. So pretty. A shame, really, to let a creature with such potential go… The wolf might persevere, the Queen considers, but the girl, Regina knows, would be dead within a year.

“Out of my sight, little wolf,” the Queen snaps, startling the girl into looking up. “Stay out of my forest, or the next time we meet, I will not be so kind.”

“Majesty…”

The girl steps forward slowly, unsure, until she reaches the gate.

“What’s your name?” Regina asks, on a whim.

“They call me Red, Your Highness.”

Chuckling, the Queen nods. “Little Red, it suits you.” The smile doesn’t leave her face, so much as lose any humor or warmth that it potentially held. “Don’t make me say it twice, Little Red, or I will change my mind. You want to get home, don’t you?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Regina feels a pang in her chest at the thought of _home_ , and at the look of hope on the girl’s face.

“Good. Guards! See Little Red safely out of the castle and back onto the path to…” She looks at Red expectantly.

“Granny’s.”

“On the path to Granny’s house.”

She turns sharply, cape swirling behind her dramatically. She knows if she spares the girl another glance, she may not let her leave. Something about her odd mixture of sadness and determination makes Regina desperately want to let her go…

 

The next time she sees Little Red, she is fighting at Snow’s side. The full moon is high, and the girl wears a cloak the color of spilled heart’s blood.

The girl whips it off, and suddenly the wolf is there, Black Knights crunching between her teeth.

Nudging the cloth back over herself, the girl transforms back to join her friend, grinning a blood stained grin and squaring up to protect the bandit princess’s back.

The part of the Queen that is Regina sees the freedom in the girl’s expression – the absence of self-loathing that was there before, the sense of purpose and the sureness of control she has over herself – and she smiles softly.

The Queen looks at the girl-shaped beast, seeing the power, the strength and potential to wreak true havoc; her smile is decidedly more sharp.

 

Swan Queen 

 

The first time it happens is an accident (mostly).

Having established that she has exactly zero self control when it comes to Regina Mills, Emma doesn’t even fight the urge to march over to the dark haired woman’s house and give her a piece of her mind.

It’s late, and between the emotional roller coaster of rescuing Henry from the mines and the grueling physical exhaustion of making sure everything was taken care of, Emma is feeling spicy as hell. She forgoes the bell for favor of pounding on the door.

Regina answers within seconds, as if she was waiting for this.

“Can I help you, Ms. Swan?” she asks, raising an eyebrow haughtily (and just who does this woman think she is, with those flawlessly sculpted eyebrows and thick, perfect eyelashes) and sneering at the deputy.

“I’m here to check on Henry,” Emma mutters, moody and petulant, and they both know she is full of shit. “Seeing as you sent me away immediately after _I_ pulled him out of that hole, I didn’t get a chance before.”

Okay, partially full of shit. Of course Emma was worried about the kid. But, it would be a flagrant untruth to say that was what brought her to the Mayor’s door so late at night.

“Considering your absolute lack of legal right, I really don’t see why you’re harassing _my_ son and I at this hour.”

Emma grits her teeth and bites back a growl. “Come on, Regina. You can’t be this cold-hearted.”

“Mayor Mills will do just fine, dear.”

“Come on  _Ms._ Mills,” the deputy sasses.

Regina sighs, and Emma looks at her more closely.

She hasn’t changed out of her clothing from earlier today – even though it is closer to tomorrow – her shirt untucked and wrinkled. There are dark bags under her eyes, and her hair is disheveled, as if she has been running her hands through it. The dark haired woman looks exhausted, if Emma is being kind, and sort of a hot mess (emphasis on _hot_ , though) if Emma is being honest.

“Henry’s… fine, Ms. Swan. Sleeping. As I was on my way to do, and as you should be.” Regina pauses, softening a bit (from titanium to iron). “It’s been a long day.”

And all at once, Emma forgets what she came there to do (mostly to harass Regina as revenge for making her stay away from Henry after rescuing him, but that is a little nothing detail). Her mind is flooded with the memory of their intense stare down and all that crackling tension and the almost kiss in front of half the town.

Then of course, because of her aforementioned total lack of control regarding anything having to do with Regina Mills, and before she realizes she is making a potentially terrible decision, Emma is kissing the Mayor of Storybrooke – fingers tangled in raven hair to hold her in place. Her mind catches up to her mouth and hands a few seconds in, and she is surprised to feel Regina isn’t jerking away, but pushing closer – harder, rougher, harsher – instead.

Regina moans into her mouth and Emma finds herself being yanked into the house by demanding hands.

They wind up in the study, and the blonde doesn’t have time to remember to be nervous about the last time she was in this room. She’s pushed down onto the couch and the other woman’s warm, solid weight settles on her hips as she is straddled.

“You’re going to have to be quiet, Ms. Swan,” Regina admonishes, and Emma blushes as she realizes that she’s whimpering a little (a lot, maybe).

Regina says it like a threat, but the sheriff's deputy sees right through her bullshit. There is no way in any layer of hell the dark haired woman would let the kid walk in on this.

“You’re kind of a bitch, you know that right?” Emma says, glaring up at the Mayor’s cruel, red smile.

Regina’s response is to reach down and tweak one of the blonde’s nipples through her bra.

“Fuck!” Emma groans. (When the hell did she lose her shirt? Emma has no idea, but Regina works fast.)

“Language, Ms. Swan,” Regina chides, again, but her smile is smug and it galls Emma a little.

It’s rough between them, and Emma tries to give as good as she gets. There are bruises. Mostly from Regina’s angry mouth (they last so long that the next time the blonde lies in bed with Ruby - almost a week later - the waitress teases her about being someone else’s marked territory), but Emma leaves a few finger shaped ones of her own.

It lasts over an hour – not the longest by far Emma has gone (even in this town, at this point) – but for so aggressive an encounter, it is a small (not blissful, but enjoyable) eternity.

Towards the end, the blonde can’t help but slow the pace and soften her touches, Regina unconsciously following suit, until it’s not clear that they are supposed to hate each other (Emma isn’t really sure about that anyway). This seems to freak the Mayor out, and after she moans her climax into Emma’s mouth (fourth, but who’s counting, definitely not Emma, no way) she shoves the deputy away.

“Don’t slam the door on the way out, dear,” Regina sneers (not as effective when she is panting like that, mostly naked, lipstick smeared across her face).

Emma doesn’t argue, _definitely not_ hurt by the dismissal. She dresses quickly instead, but takes her time using the downstairs bathroom to fix her hair and wash her mouth and hands before strolling casually out the front door, shutting it quietly behind her. She definitely _does not_ look back three or four times as she makes her way down the street towards town.

 

In the morning – Emma hasn’t actually slept yet, but is too ashamed to crawl back to Mary Margret’s place when she might be there to ask questions about the shade of lipstick on her collar – the blonde nurses a coffee at Granny’s and enjoys Ruby’s flirting across the counter. Regina walks in at 8 o’clock sharp, heels clicking loudly on the linoleum, and completely ignores the deputy as she orders her regular to go.

Emma could almost believe that they hadn’t happened, except for the aches in intimate places, and the fact that when Regina walks by to pay, she brushes her hip against Emma’s back (right across a particularly deep set of scratches). The blonde almost snorts coffee through her nose, body rigid as a board, and doesn’t turn to look after the Mayor until the bell over the door dings her departure.

“That woman’s something else,” the deputy mumbles, watching Regina get into her car through the plate glass of the window.

Ruby chuckles knowingly, refilling Emma’s coffee and leaning over the counter top to get a better look (giving the blonde a fantastic view of her bright red bra, though Emma would never dream of complaining).

“Yeah,” the brunette says, amused but also a little wistful. “She really is.”

They share a slightly awkward smile, then Ruby winks – breaking the weird tension between them – and with a laugh and a cough, Emma goes back to her coffee.

_tbc..._


	2. the splash of [her] tongue melting you like a sugar cube: red swan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma doesn’t have friends – she has people she is friendly with – because friends keep you from being able to up and leave with only a moments notice. She doesn’t do friends, or best friends, or warm fuzzy feelings.
> 
> Except, it’s just so easy with Ruby, like she’s unlearned all her coping mechanisms and survival skills. It’s automatic – like slipping on her favorite jacket and not snagging her fingers in the tear in the lining, or like shifting the gears in her bug on an incline. Holding Ruby after, chatting about their days, cracking jokes, casual touches… it’s so fucking easy.
> 
> \----
> 
> slick skin, warm fuzzy (and scary) feelings, and a Ruby Special.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See Prologue for disclaimers.
> 
> Still unbeta'd.
> 
> Sorry for the loooooong hiatus. Real life and other fandom angst was gumming up the works. I will be posting much more often now.

Red Swan

The thing Emma likes about what she has with Ruby is that it’s always easy between them. Not that the girl herself is easy – despite her reputation, the waitress has only had a few more lovers than Emma has in Storybrooke at this point - but rather, being with her is easy (in the general sense, because what they have is absolutely casual and in no way a actual _thing_ ). Everything about their interactions flow naturally, the laughing and dancing, the teasing each other, even the talking about themselves (oddly enough, it’s Emma that does most of the talking, though Ruby always has an anecdote, however vague and sometimes cliché).

It really should make it awkward between them, how close they have gotten in such a short time, when they are like this (Ruby’s buried between the blonde’s legs, head trapped by two trembling thighs). Emma hates when _close_ and _bed_ intersect – it’s against one of her most important rules – but she just can’t bring herself to make things… difficult.

Also, it’s incredibly hard to be freaked out when Ruby is three fingers in to the hilt and working her tongue like getting Emma to cum will reveal the location of the Holy Grail.

(Emma forgets who she is supposed to be in the Big Book sometimes, whether she is supposed to slay dragons or pull swords from stones; whatever her role, though, it can’t be better than Ruby’s enthusiastic attentions.)

Everything is so completely easy and smooth between them that, honestly, _that_ is what makes Emma nervous – how _not_ nervous she is about their (less than conventional) friendship.

Except that there is no time to worry about it now, because Ruby is doing her best to make the deputy sheriff howl at the moon using just the tip of her tongue and her right hand, and Emma has to bite down hard on her own fist to keep from waking her roommate as her orgasm washes over her.

“Jesus, Ruby,” the blonde hisses between clenched teeth, body going boneless. “Are you trying to traumatize Mary Margaret?”

“Hmm,” the brunette hums, unapologetic. “She could use a little scandal in her life.” (Not too long after this encounter, this statement will of course be the epitome of ironic.)

“I don’t want to be responsible for having the Sapphic version of the ‘birds and the bees’ talk with my grown roommate, thank you.”

Still, Emma can’t help but run a hand over the skin of the other woman’s smooth, pale hip, grinning when the waitress shivers. They’ve been at it for a while now, and Emma is sore in places she didn’t know she had, but something about Ruby makes her a little insatiable. (It’s easy to be, when the brunette is always ready to go, never seems to get tired.)

“The lady protests but then reaches for more,” Ruby teases, shimming over until she is pressed to Emma’s body.

“Guess you’ll have to be quiet then,” Emma replies, knowing it’s late enough that if they keep going, they might end up having to explain Ruby’s presence to Mary Margaret anyway.

It’s a conversation Emma has been avoiding, but only because she is not the kind of person to ask a lover to stay. And if she is going to awkwardly explain to one friend why another is in her bed, she should at least have made the choice.

Emma doesn’t _do_ explanations or sleepovers or the sorts of choices that could be construed as laying a claim, so Ruby’s time is running short.

(Emma also doesn’t do the whole friend thing, especially not the _best_ friend thing, but neither Mary Margaret nor Ruby had really stopped to ask her whether or not she had rules about that, just had take up positions in her life instead.)

“As much as I would enjoy the opportunity to traumatize your roommate’s delicate sensibilities, I have an early morning,” Ruby murmurs, kissing the blonde’s chin and throat.

“I thought you closed on Mondays?” Emma asks, studiously ignoring what it could mean that she knows the waitress’s schedule.

“Granny’s sick for the first time in living memory, so I’m doing a Hallelujah Shift.”

“A what?”

“Open to close,” Ruby explains, laying a quick kiss on Emma’s collarbone before rolling away and sitting up.

“Jesus Christ…”

“Yup,” the brunette agrees, reaching for her clothes. “Just another day in paradise, and I’ll sing ‘hallelujah!’ when it’s over.”

Emma groans in sympathy, doing her best to ignore the small blossom of disappointment in her chest, because that is just way to complicated – not at all easy.

“Guess you’ll be too tired to come over tonight then.” She makes it a statement because a question seems too needy, and she has absolutely no right to Ruby’s time. “Mary Margaret’s making cookies.”

Nothing wrong with a little incentive though.

“Sorry Em,” Ruby says, real regret in her voice as she shimmies into her shorts.

“Totally understandable. Mary Margaret wanted company to the school play anyway.”

The blonde resists the urge to reach over and run her finger tips over her lover’s back as the girl slips her bra over her breasts.

“Yikes.” Ruby turns and grimaces, reaching for her red knit sweater.

“It’s a musical,” Emma says, nodding, solemn expression on her face as she pulls the sheets up to cover her chest.

Dressed now, Ruby snorts, coming around the bed to loom over the reclined deputy.

“You’re a good man, Charlie Brown,” she teases with a grin, leaning down to capture Emma’s lips in a kiss.

“Are you even old enough to know that reference?” the blonde asks, truly curious.

Ruby rolls her eyes and shrugs, used to Emma taking shots at her age by now and no longer concerned with her inability to properly defend herself with concrete answers.

“Everyone knows Peanuts, Swan.”

“Uh huh,” Emma replies, not convinced. Someday she is going to make Ruby show her driver’s license.

“Later, gator,” Ruby says, shifting to pull away.

The blonde grabs a hold of her sweater and pulls her down into a kiss, so that the waitress either has to straddle her body or fall down.

She chooses the former.

“Emma…” she hisses in protest, but her hands tangle in the deputy’s hair and her knees are tight against the reclined woman’s hips. “I gotta go…”

A wave of longing rolls over Emma Swan, so strong she feels her toes curl and her throat tighten. She lets it out in the form of a sigh that is a little too revealing, if Ruby’s sympathetic look is anything to go by.

“You work tonight?”

“Overnight,” Emma confirms, letting the waitress go and flopping back onto the bed.

There had been a rash of night vandalism lately, and Emma drew short straw (aka Sheriff Graham was a total prick when they were out of bed, and had pulled rank). Overnight shifts were the worst. Mayor Mills really needed to let go of the coin purse a little and hire another deputy to cover the odd hours; Emma had no idea how Graham had done this alone for so long.

“Graham’s an asshole,” Ruby coos, not getting up from her perch, but sitting back and running a hand through her thick dark hair.

The casual familiarity of their position – fully clothed – makes Emma smile a little, even as it gives rise to a small spark of fear. They are getting comfortable with each other in ways the blonde has never had before (or, at least not for a long time, not in ways she wants to remember).

“Graham _IS_ an asshole,” Emma agrees, cutting off her line of thought before she can freak out too much. It’s easier instead to take her cue from Ruby, who seems not at all bothered.

“Stop by after the play and I’ll see about fixing you something special. To thank you for all your hard work serving and protecting us innocent townies from all the things that go bump in the night.”

“Now who’s the asshole?” the deputy asks, but she can’t help the light blush that spreads across her cheeks.

“I _know_  you’re not talking about _me_ , who just offered to take time away from her oh-so-prestigious and important patrons to make you a Ruby Special.”

Emma freezes, stunned.

“A Ruby Special?” she whispers, voice thin with surprise. The waitress nods, humming and leaning down to trail kisses along Emma’s jaw. “Like, the _whole_  deal?”

“Mmm hmmm.” The kisses move south, down her neck, as if the brunette has decided she is all right with being late for work.

The Ruby Special is the stuff of legends. If there was a secret menu at Granny’s (which Emma is pretty sure there is, and that the locals are just keeping it a secret from her because she’s the fuzz now), the Ruby Special would be on the triple-secret-Illuminati-handshake-funny-hat level of it.

Emma’s only heard of it in whispers. Once from Mary Margaret, who said she was served the magical meal after hours after the absolute worst of dates she had ever had. And once from Billy, who was bragging to some guys at the Rabbit Hole that he was sure he and Ruby were a thing now because the girl had hooked him up with the most epic meal after he had come over and replaced the brake pads in her car off the books.

There is honest to God panic, because Emma can’t think of an emotional trauma that’s happened lately worthy of this gift, nor has she offered Ruby anything of value in terms of services to deserve such treatment (because as good as they were together in bed, Emma would’ve been rolling in Ruby Special’s by now), but sweaty palms and racing heart aside, there is also a deep, covetous lust. Not for the waitress (well, not _just_  for the waitress, because Emma isn’t in a coma after all), but for the chance to taste the fabled feast.

She has to be sure.

“With the milkshake too?”

Ruby’s response is dry. “I’m told it brings all the boys to the yard.”

The blonde snorts and rolls her eyes, all fear forgotten in the face of the girl’s cartoonish wink.

“Get out of here. You’re gonna be late.”

Nodding, Ruby leans down and licks Emma’s cheek. (Emma loathes it when she does this, which only means the brunette does it as often as she can get away with.)

“Gross,” the sheriff whines, wiping at her cheek. Ruby grins and slides off her, straightening her clothes. “And if you were wondering the answer to the whole ‘asshole question,’ it’s you. You are definitely the asshole.”

“You love it,” Ruby hums.

“Yadda, yadda, yadda.” Emma waves the girl away, body going ridged with tension though she tries to look casual.

“See ya later,” Ruby says, saluting the reclining woman and turning away.

When the younger Lucas is gone, Emma allows the panic she feels in her chest to break out over her face.

Emma doesn’t have friends – she has people she is _friendly_  with – because friends keep you from being able to up and leave with only a moments notice. She doesn’t do friends, or best friends, or warm fuzzy feelings.

Except, it’s just so easy with Ruby, like she’s unlearned all her coping mechanisms and survival skills. It’s automatic – like slipping on her favorite jacket and not snagging her fingers in the tear in the lining, or like shifting the gears in her bug on an incline. Holding Ruby after, chatting about their days, cracking jokes, casual touches… it’s so fucking easy.

“It's fine,” Emma says out loud. “We’re friends. That's fine.”

 Even to her own ears it isn't very convincing.

 

****

 

The Ruby Special is delicious.

Emma moans and closes her eyes as she eats, and Mary Margaret snorts and rolls hers.

“What did you do to get that?” the school teacher asks, more than a little jealous.

Emma doesn’t answer, choosing instead to use the spoon in her shake to shove ice cream, chocolate syrup, and cookie crumbles into her mouth. (It’s a little too thick for the straw, but Emma is just fine with that.) She does manage a shrug in her roommate’s direction, though, smiling around the food in her mouth.

They both look over at Ruby, who is behind the counter clearly tired but as friendly to the customers as if it were the beginning of her shift and not getting towards the end of a grueling day.

The waitress looks over at them, smiling fondly.

“Got a little something,” she calls out at Emma, pointing to her own chin.

Blushing – _STOP THAT RIGHT NOW_ , Emma chides herself – the deputy wipes her face with her thumb, making sure to hold Ruby’s eyes as she wipes sucks the whipped cream into her mouth. (She’d swear the girl’s eyes actually _flashed_  for a second, but that is crazy – too much of listening to Henry go on about his book and about wolves and red cloaks, probably.)

“Well, if you’re not going to tell me, the least you can do is share,” Mary Margaret declares.

Without a word Emma passes over the rest of her burger (it is fresh and masterfully seasoned, and rare enough to still moo, and the cheese and onions are perfect but the deputy will be damned if shares her milkshake).

“Oh wow…” the school teacher groans around a mouthful. “Well, whatever you did, keep it up!”

Emma chokes on her drink, looking at her roommate out of the corner of her eye.

Mary Margaret’s expression is all innocence around the eyes, but very sly around the mouth.

“Right,” the blonde says, swallowing hard.

Ruby wanders over, leaning her hip against the back of Emma’s chair.

“Anything else, ladies?”

“I’m fine.” Mary Margaret smiles gently, before turning a raised eyebrow at the deputy. “Emma?”

“Nope. All good.”

Emma reaches for her wallet, but Ruby touches the back of her hand lightly, shaking her head.

“On me,” she murmurs, tapping Emma’s fingers before moving away to the next table. “Have a good night Mary Margaret. Deputy sheriff.”

Mary Margaret chuckles, the sound knowing and a little raunchy.

“Not a word,” Emma hisses, the sound more desperate than threatening, “or next time you can suffer through Oklahoma alone.”

Mary Margaret holds up her hands in surrender, but can’t manage to wipe the smugness off her face.

Emma won’t let her roommate make her feel weird about Ruby. Not when it’s easy and simple, totally casual.

Emma’s spoon scrapes the bottom of her cup, and she looks up, catching Billy and Whale staring at her from the counter, expressions a mix of jealousy and a silent ‘right on man.’

Easy.

Right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I decided to break up the structure. I originally wanted to post each chapter with 3 sections - Red Swan, Red Queen, and Red Swan Queen - but I realized I would never get the chapters up if I did that. I am breaking them up by pairing instead. This will help me get them out quicker.
> 
> I have the next 4 chapters written - just have to type them up.


	3. the splash of [her] tongue melting you like a sugar cube: red queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ruby isn’t sure how they get from the Rabbit Hole back to the mansion on Mifflin St.
> 
> (That’s a lie – it’s Regina inclining her head towards the exit of the Rabbit Hole before smoothly swallowing the rest of her scotch and leaving, and Ruby following 30 seconds behind. It’s Ruby making Regina almost wreck the her car when she can’t keep her hands to herself, until they stop in the middle of the road and the smaller woman pulls her into the filthiest, most intense kiss she has ever had and orders her to sit on her hands until they get where they are going.)
> 
> They barely make it through the door before Regina has her pushed up against the wall, insistent hands ripping at her clothing.  
> \----  
> Expensive scotch, shredded clothing, knowing grins from wolves in sheep's clothing.
> 
> Red Queen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN 1: See first chapter for disclaimers.  
> AN 2: Forever un-beta'd.  
> AN 3: Seriously, I am the worst at summaries.

Red Queen

 

The first time it happens between them, Ruby is stone cold sober, but she isn’t really positive Regina is.

It’s late – last call at the Rabbit Hole – and the waitress has been nursing the same drink for the past hour, watching as Billy and a few of the other locals once again try to impress her enough to let them take her home.

(In the end she almost always goes home alone, because despite her reputation and liking the attention, Ruby isn’t really much interested in letting any of these townie boys paw at her for a few drunken minutes until they decide it’s time to ‘get down to business.’)

She’s bored and a little disappointed in how flat her evening has been. She should’ve asked Mary Margaret to catch a movie with her instead. She can’t remember the last time she sent time with her friend outside of the diner, and the thought fills her with a deep sort of yearning sadness that seems out of proportion.

A warm body slides up to the bar, squeezing in between Ruby and Leroy, who is so deep into his cups he’s swimming in the bottle.

“Two fingers of the Balvenie Caribbean Cask,” a voice – distinctly feminine and distinctly dangerous – commands, as the body leans into Ruby (or more accurately away from Leroy, who has begun to snore loudly).

Ruby starts a bit – she knows that voice – and turns.

Regina Mills, Mayor of Storybrooke, stands impatiently tapping an expensive heel on the stick barroom floor as she waits for the man to pour her drink.

“Last call,” the bartender tells her as he hands her the glass.

“Better pour me another then. Make it a triple.”

The Mayor’s voice is low and rough, almost a growl, and it would embarrass Ruby how it makes her skin prickle and her stomach flutter, except that the waitress is a little desperate for anything different than what he life has been lately.

It’s that desperation, and not the watered down cocktail that long ago went lukewarm, that makes her turn fully to face the other woman, suggestive smile already in place.

“Slumming it tonight, Madam Mayor?”

Regina scoffs, knocking back her first drink (Ruby is a little impressed and a little miffed at the waste of such expensive scotch) and reaching for her second.

“Hardly,” she drawls, but then looks at Ruby and sighs. “I just couldn’t stare at my own walls anymore.”

It is by no means a deep, dark confession of her soul, but the younger woman can tell that Regina rarely has the opportunity for any sort of personal disclosures.

“Well, I hope the local color is to your liking, then,” Ruby says, holding up her glass in salute.

“It’s a lot less… colorful than I expected, honestly,” the mayor says, allowing a small smirk.

“If you’d been here like an hour ago, you’d have caught the arm wrestling contest. Half the bar participated!”

 “And what was the prize?”

“I was.”

Now Regina chuckles, the sound a bit superior but not suffering for it. “How positively medieval. Who won?”

Now Ruby’s grin is wide, predatory, all teeth and pride.

“I did, obviously.”

The mayor lets out a real laugh, from somewhere in her belly.

“Now _that_ ,” she raises her glass and gently clinks it against Ruby’s own, “is the sort of peasant revelry worth watching.”

 

****

 

Ruby isn’t sure how they get from the Rabbit Hole back to the mansion on Mifflin St.

(That’s a lie – it’s Regina inclining her head towards the exit of the Rabbit Hole before smoothly swallowing the rest of her scotch and leaving, and Ruby following 30 seconds behind. It’s Ruby making Regina almost wreck the her car when she can’t keep her hands to herself, until they stop in the middle of the road and the smaller woman pulls her into the filthiest, most intense kiss she has ever had and orders her to sit on her hands until they get where they are going.)

They barely make it through the door before Regina has her pushed up against the wall, insistent hands ripping at her clothing.

“Now who’s impatient?” Ruby pants, using her size to flip their positions.

Regina doesn’t respond verbally, choosing to rear up and kiss with crushing force instead.

Message received.

There is nothing graceful or soft about their coupling. It’s all sharp teeth on the edge of piercing skin, and fingers that claw and bruise. Regina seems intent on punishing Ruby for some unknown slight with her hands and mouth, and Ruby isn’t one to back down from a challenge.

 

In the end they both win – or lose, neither is sure which – collapsing panting and exhausted next to each other on the floor of Regina’s study. (Ruby will have to wear scarves and button her shirts all the way up and down for a few days, and maybe refrain from wearing shorts that go higher than her knees.)

 

“Jesus Regina,” the waitress groans, running trembling fingers through her sweat soaked hair. “I don’t know what I did to piss you off, but you should tell me so I can do it again.”

The mayor tenses beside her. “Excuse me?”

Rolling over to face the smaller woman, absolutely refusing to feel awkward even with her smeared lipstick and the sticky warmth drying on the insides of her thighs, Ruby softly brushes her nails over Regina’s jaw. Despite her clear apprehension, Regina can’t help but sigh, eyes fluttering shut.

“That, whatever the hell got into you.” Ruby gestures lazily at the room, which has not escape their activities unscathed. “You should probably tell me what I did to inspire that.”

“Presumptuous of you to assume that anything you did would affect me like that,” Regina mutters, but relaxes a bit and smirks.

Ruby hums, leaning in and nuzzling the smaller woman’s neck right below her ear. “I’m gonna go ahead and take all the moaning my name and the ‘do you have any idea what those shorts do to me’ completely personally.”

She can feel the blush before she pulls back to see it. It’s bright - all apple red cheeks - and it’s a little mind blowing that such a normally reserved woman can look so much like a school girl caught with her skirt up at such light teasing.

“Your arrogance is only dwarfed by your monstrous lack of tact, Miss Lucas,” the mayor drawls, attempting to regain her cool, unaffected front.

Ruby’s seen behind it, though, and won’t ever be fooled again.

“I think ‘Ruby’ is more appropriate at this point, don’t you?” the waitress teases, nipping at Regina’s pulse point. “And, being subtle doesn’t get good tips.”

The smaller woman chuckles, pulling the remains of her designer blouse around her shoulders.

“Fair enough.”

Regina doesn’t kick her out, exactly, but she _does_ offer to drive Ruby home after the waitress exits the bathroom. (Her makeup is ruined, her clothes in need of mending in a place or two, but it’s all worth it for the delicious ache Regina’s left between her legs.)

Ruby politely declines, because sex always gives her energy that buzzes just under the surface, begging to be released, and the walk to the Inn is just far enough to maybe burn off enough to sleep.

At the door Ruby turns, eyeing Regina curiously. The smaller woman’s posture is stiff, not quite hostile but certainly not welcoming, and Ruby sighs and smiles a little ruefully.

“This won’t be happening again, will it?” she asks, already knowing the answer and sorry for it, but not surprised or resentful.

Regina frowns and swallows hard, hand coming to her own stomach in an odd gesture of self comfort, but she doesn’t respond. Ruby nods and chuckles.

“Why did it happen in the first place?” She doesn’t expect an answer, and so intrigued when the mayor looks down in what could be shame. “Regina?”

“It… wasn’t my intention, no. I needed a change. It feels like decades since anything has stirred more than a passing interest. I just get so _tired_ of all the… sameness here.” Regina looks up, holding Ruby’s eyes, expression oddly desperate. “Though, you’re not exactly my usual type for this sort of thing.”

Ruby chooses not to be insulted by that, though she does raise an eyebrow.

“I’ll assume you meant because I am a woman, and not because of what they say about me.”

“What exactly do you think _they_ say about you?”

“That I’m a man-eater.” Ruby huffs. “As if I didn’t spend almost every night in the dinner or the Inn, serving them coffee and making beds. As if this isn’t the first time in recent memory I’ve gone home with somebody.”

Now Regina raises an eyebrow. “I’m a politician, not a prude Miss Lucas. Your gender nor your _reputation_ is of any concern to me.”

“Riiiight,” Ruby murmurs, rolling her eyes like the teenager she hasn’t been in many, many years.

The mayor frowns, crossing her arms over her chest now, clearly annoyed. She’s managed to button her blouse (partially – only enough that technically she isn’t nude from the waist up), but the state of the garment is undermining any sort of authority the woman is trying to convey.

“I am not going to waste time soothing or catering to your ego. Your association with certain people in this town makes you less than ideal for sex,” she all but spits, nostrils flaring.

“What is it with you and Mary Margaret, anyway?” the waitress asks, oddly charmed by Regina’s sudden agitation.

“Excuse me?”

There is a clenching in her belly, what might have been the beginnings of fear, but something about the mayor’s expression (as if she is exasperated, almost powerless in her frustration to do anything except snap at her) fills Ruby with a strange, heady sort of giddiness.

“Everyone knows you hate her. Your _lack of tact_ when it comes to Mary Margaret Blanchard is _monstrous_. But, no one can remember why.”

“Good night, Miss Lucas.”

The mayor’s expression has gone hard and cold as stone.

“Regina…”

“Mayor Mills will do, dear.”

Frustrated – mostly at her own big mouth – Ruby huffs again but nods.

“Fine.”

The taller woman reaches out, grabbing the front of Regina’s savaged blouse and pulling her forward crush their lips together. The mayor’s icy attitude melts into an almost angry fire; she kisses Ruby like she is trying to scorch her with her mouth.

Pulling back, Ruby grins and runs her tongue along her bottom lip. It stings deliciously, and she tastes blood (her own). Her grin turns feral.

“If this isn’t going to happen again…” she trails off, enjoying the way Regina flushes.

She lets go of the smaller woman, moving back a step and straightening up to her full height and inclining her head. “Madam Mayor.”

Ruby turns on her heel and saunters away, nerves going crazy and grateful that life has taught her how to fake casual confidence.

The wind shifts, and she’d swear that she can smell the other woman on it (dark and angry and still very much aroused). She knows it’s her mind playing tricks on her, but the swagger in her step becomes that much less forced – more natural at the thought that she has broken through Regina’s bullshit, that she might have left a lasting impression on the mayor.

Not a wasted Saturday after all…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised actual Red Queen (Wolf Queen still sounds waaaaay cooler), and so it begins. It will get more explicit as I go on.
> 
> The next part will be Swan Queen (then Red Swan, the Red Queen, then Swan Queen, etc until we come to the Red Swan Queen). The next part has feels. You have been warned...
> 
> Also, there are gonna be more than 6 parts no that I am splitting things up by pairing (maybe 15ish).


	4. the splash of [her] tongue melting you like a sugar cube: swan queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, after what feels to Emma like a small eternity, there are soft footsteps on the stairs (Regina must be barefoot, which blows Emma’s mind), and the door opens.
> 
> They stare at each other for long moments.
> 
> Regina’s eyes are red rimmed and swollen, clearly she’s been crying, and she is wearing what can be described as comfort clothing – a big, puffy gray cardigan and leggings, an outfit Emma would never in a million years believed she owned – but the expression on her face is as close to murder as possible without actually committing it.
> 
> “What can I do for you, sheriff?” she asks, and her voice is hard and sharp, like it was in the beginning, before they started… whatever it is that they had.
> 
> \----
> 
> A heart-to-heart. One step forward, too many back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN 1: See prologue for disclaimers.  
> AN 2: Still no beta. It's do it live or don't do it over here...  
> AN 3: Forever and always the worst at summaries.  
> AN 4: I don't think Julia is reading this anymore, but I have committed to it, so I will get it finished.

Swan Queen

The first thing Emma does when she gets back from the Enchanted Forest (after making sure that Henry is okay, and that Mary Margaret is with David – all three of them tucked away in the loft) is march over to Regina’s. Her feet don’t really give her a choice, taking her right to Mifflin St. like the mayor is a bad habit she just can’t break.

Unlike every other time she has done this – there have been enough so that Emma has stopped counting – Regina takes almost a full five minutes to answer the door. If the lights hadn’t been on upstairs, the stillness of the house would have made Emma think no one was around. But the sheriff knows Regina (hates that she knows her so well), and so she waits.

Finally, after what feels to Emma like a small eternity, there are soft footsteps on the stairs (Regina must be barefoot, which blows Emma’s mind), and the door opens.

They stare at each other for long moments.

Regina’s eyes are red rimmed and swollen, clearly she’s been crying, and she is wearing what can be described as comfort clothing – a big, puffy gray cardigan and leggings, an outfit Emma would never in a million years believed she owned – but the expression on her face is as close to murder as possible without actually committing it.

“What can I do for you, sheriff?” she asks, and her voice is hard and sharp, like it was in the beginning, before they started… whatever it is that they had.

“I…” Emma begins, but then stops, frowning.

Regina’s posture is rigid, her expression hostile – threatening even – but her clenched hands shake, and there is a brief tremble of her lower lip that tells how close the mayor is to losing her composure.

“Regina…”

“Where’s Henry?” Regina asks, looking away as she swallows hard and frowns.

“With David and Mary Margaret, at home, safe.” Emma tries for a reassuring smile.

“That’s debatable,” the dark haired woman sneers, but her shoulders relax a fraction of an inch.

Emma resists rolling her eyes, because of course Regina would assume she left Henry alone.

They stand in silence for long moments again, both of them clearly exhausted, thousands of unvoiced words sitting heavily between them.

Finally, Regina sighs, running a hand through her hair.

“What do you want, Ms. Swan?”

Usually the blonde would quip – say something clever or on the edge of biting, or comment on 'Ms. Swan' making a return – but after what she’s been through the last few weeks, she just doesn’t have it in her. She goes for honesty instead.

“I needed to check on you.”

Regina raises an eyebrow, caught off guard but good at hiding it. (Mostly. Except that Emma has become very good at reading her.)

“Check on me?”

“Yeah. Look, Regina.” Emma bites back a sigh; she does that a lot when it comes to the other woman. “What you did today…”

“I did for my son.”

Emma lets the ‘my son’ go.

“You saved us, Regina. Saved _me_.”

“For Henry,” the mayor insists, but she can’t quite meet the sheriff’s eyes.

“We’ve been through enough at this point where it’s downright insulting that you would think I can’t see through that bullshit,” Emma comments, tone even – mild.

Regina glares for a moment, as if gearing up for a fight. But then the wind picks up and she shivers, the cold seeming to break her resolve, and her body doesn’t so much relax as semi-collapse in on itself. One hand comes up to splay over her stomach, as if for protection (it’s her biggest tell, and it breaks Emma a little), and she looks at the other woman almost beseechingly.

“What do you want from me?” she asks, voice husky, so tired and sad.

She isn’t rendered harmless in her sadness – Regina is a dangerous woman, always – but the rage that usually props her up is gone for now, and her dark eyes look almost hollow. It scares Emma.

“Don’t give up,” Emma whispers, stepping forward into Regina’s space.

The smaller woman doesn’t bother stepping back, just starts up into earnest blue eyes.

“Excuse me?”

“What you did today – the choice you made – it was good. I-I think, maybe Henry’s book left out a lot. About everything, but, especially about you.”

“Ms. Swan,” Regina sighs, eyes sliding closed, pained.

“I’m not saying you haven’t done fucked up shit, Regina. I’ve been here. I’ve seen you. But, just, maybe… Maybe that’s not how it always has to be.”

“You Charmings,” the ex-Evil Queen spits, half in disgust but also half fond. “Is this where you give me another speech about how there is good in all of us?

Regina’s eyes are open now, and there is amusement there (Emma chooses to ignore the cruelty alongside it).

The Savior snorts, rolling her eyes. “No. I’m a grownup Regina – _despite_ how you like to mock me. I understand damn well that things aren’t so simple and black and white.”

This seems to catch the smaller woman off guard. “Oh. Well, good.”

Emma bites back a smile, knowing it won’t help her cause.

“I’m putting it out there, though, that maybe _you_ don’t.”

“It has been a long, awful day for me Ms. Swan, and you are treading on very thin ice.”

“You just seem obsessed with living up to your title of Evil Queen, like, maybe you gave up believing that you had a choice. All I’m saying is, you do. Have a choice I mean. Every second of every day.” Emma pauses, drawing a breath and rubbing the back of her neck. “Maybe you forgot, or maybe it’s just easier being a raging bitch - ” Regina makes a noise at that, somewhere between an insulted grunt and a bark of laughter “ – but today, you chose to do the right thing. So, I wanted to say thank you, and that I’m a little proud.”

Now Regina rolls her eyes – Emma grins at the gesture, knowing she is rubbing off on her quasi-enemy part-time lover – and mutters ‘definitely a Charming.’ But there is red in her cheeks, like she is fighting a blush.

“Also, I wanted to check and make sure you didn’t sprain anything being nice to me for that one minute earlier.” Emma can’t help herself. She blames her genes.

“Your ability to delude yourself into believing you are funny is astounding. I don’t know why I allow your presence.”

Regina sniffs haughtily, but Emma notices the way her lips curve up softly at the corners. When she first arrived, the blonde might have mistook it for Regina just being nasty, but she knows better now.

“And yet, you keep signing my checks.”

“When I figure out how to legally disband your department, I’ll dance in the ruins of the sheriff’s station,” the dark haired woman promises, nodding resolutely.

Of course, she’s made these threats before – as if she was ever _really_ concerned with the law, and as if Emma couldn’t see right through her.

“Right, but, until then, I’ll continue to collect a sweet paycheck for all of my _astounding_ wit and services.”

Regina narrows her eyes, but her smirk is more indulgent than superior.

“I _can_ still fire you, you know. You and that meddling shepherd.”

“I don’t actually think you can, anymore.”

Their playful banter is wandering into dangerous territory now, but Emma doesn’t know how to stop it.

Regina just raises her eyebrow again, though.

“Of course I can, dear. The insipid Dr. Hopper may have incited a mob, but he never actually called for my impeachment. I’m technically still mayor.”

The blonde blinks rapidly, surprised both by this revelation and by how well Regina seems to be taking the whole thing.

“We’ve been gone for like, weeks. How…”

Now Regina does look superior, straightening to her full height (which is precious, let’s be serious, because she is in bare feet and Emma is in boots), and looking up at the sheriff regally.

“As much as these peasants fear and despise me, they have no idea how to even begin governing anything in this world. As long as I keep the town running, they pretend they can live without me and leave me alone.”

The mayor sounds proud – at being in charge still, purportedly, but probably closer to being needed – and Emma is struck by a wave of sadness. It sounds too much like Regina is so desperate for worth that she’s happy to be used (Emma can relate, but she’s worked so hard to do better for and to herself), and it hurts something inside the blonde to see it.

Regina must see the heartache on Emma’s face, and must mistake it for pity, because her lip curls into a snarl.

“Get that look off your face, _sheriff_.”

Without a word, Emma steps closer, their bodies almost touching now, and reaches up with both hands.

“What are you doing?” the smaller woman growls, and any other time the sound of it would do things to Emma that would lead to them both naked and panting on the floor.

Instead, she cups Regina’s face in her palms and moves in slowly, giving her enough time to pull away if she really wants to, but steady enough to leave no doubt that she wants to do this.

The kiss isn’t long (maybe half a minute, though Emma isn’t counting), and is devoid of the angry passion that usually blazes between them. Rather, it is firm (not soft, because too much has happened for that), deliberate, maybe a little accepting. When Emma pulls back she sees real, naked fear in Regina’s eyes.

“E-Emma?”

“It’s fine, okay? Just, keep that in mind,” the blonde says, smiling wanly.

She has scared herself too, and doesn’t know how to take back what just happened without pissing the dark haired woman off or hurting her, which is far worse though she is not ready to admit that to herself.

The sheriff backs up, hands falling limply to her sides.

“I’ll just, uh, I’m gonna go.”

“Emma…”

Regina looks shell shocked, fingers coming up to touch her lips. Her other hand settles back onto her stomach, and Emma hates that she is responsible for the turmoil that sits there.

“I, I should be getting back. To Henry,” Emma says, walking backwards. Regina flinches at their son’s name, as if she’s been struck across the face, and Emma winces in guilt. “Just, just remember. The, uh, whole choice thing.”

The former Queen’s expression goes cold then, shuts down completely.

Turning, unable to deal, Emma does the thing she’s best at even after all this time. She runs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first "premise" is complete. The next (a full cycle of R/S, R/Q, S/Q) is in the works. I jump around in time a lot, so if there is any confusion, let me know and I will try and clear it up.


End file.
